


Trying our hand at burglary

by Anonymous



Category: Pirates of Penzance, The Pirates of Penzance - Sullivan/Gilbert
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Friendship, Gen, Head Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Things Go Wrong, all ends well though, and the rest of the pirates help, by not fretting, i guess, mainly the pirate king frets, pirate king is a good pirate king, pirates of penzance - Freeform, see pirates this is why you shouldn't go burgling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-10 10:23:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3286814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The pirates try their hand at burglary. They really shouldn't have.</p>
<p>"It had not, as people would normally tell him, all happened quickly. </p>
<p>It had happened slowly. </p>
<p>So slowly that, he keeps telling himself, he could have done something."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trying our hand at burglary

It had not, as people would normally tell him, all happened quickly. 

It had happened slowly. 

So slowly that, he keeps telling himself, he could have done something. 

What exactly, he isn’t sure of. Jumped in between the sergeant and the boy, maybe? He was far away, but then again, it had happened so slowly. He can still see it in maddening detail every time he closes his eyes. So that is something he doesn’t do, not if he can avoid it. Instead he keeps running, Samuel at his heels.

He could have shouted. Shouted ‘DUCK, Frederic, DOWN!’. Or something like that. There were plenty of slow agonizing seconds between the raising of the baton and the harsh crack of wood against skull. He knows, he recounted them often. Frequently. Damn it all to hell. Should have stuck to roaming the sea, leave burglary to the professionals, that’s what he should have done! He shifts the boy’s weight in his arms and keeps running. 

\----

It happened so slowly, he could have done anything. Anything at all. He is, after all, a Pirate King. 

As it was, he had done nothing. He ducked and danced around two constables at once, knowing that his wide grin made him seem every bit the mad pirate people whispered he was, and enjoying every second. After he’d smoothly disarmed the clumsiest of his two opponents, the dull thud of something hitting the ground behind him made him aware of the presence of a third. Although this one was already floored, currently trying to pry the sharp point of a foil from his foot. His grin widened as he recognized Frederic’s foil. Good lad, that. He blocked another half-hearted swing from a police baton and caught Frederic’s eye across the chapel’s graveyard. The other man grinned back, even winked, the sly bastard, before crouching down to slip a dagger from his boot. It was then that he should have acted.

Should have been a proper Pirate King and done something. 

Not stare dumbly as the sergeant appeared out of nowhere, baton raised. 

Not blink, motionless, as the man brought it down with unnecessary force on the back of his apprentice’s head. 

Anything but that. 

\----

All motion had ceased at his roar. Constables frozen on the spot, his crew crouched down, ready to strike whatever unseen danger threatened their captain. He’d shouted. ‘My boy!’, And again. And then ‘Retreat!’ 

At Sam’s uncomprehending look, his ‘NOW!’ snapped everyone back into motion. Most of his crew legging it back to the ship as he found himself dropping to the ground next to Frederic’s still form. ‘Come on, m’boy, come on’ he’d said, over and over, whilst Samuel and James, thank the high heavens for small mercies, held off the remaining constables.

And now he runs, still reeling from the way the boy’s head just lolls back on his shoulders when Sam catches up with him, pushing him forward, ‘They’re bringing backup capt’n,’ he barks ‘keep moving!’. He nods, Frederic isn’t heavy, exactly, but he is nonetheless relieved when the ship comes into sight. His arms are shaking. Which they shouldn’t. He is, after all, a Pirate King. Sam, deaf to his protests, manhandles him up the stepladder first while James swings Frederic’s dead weight over his shoulder and climbs after them. And then they’re off, out of the bay and into the well known territory of the open sea. 

\----

He sits heavily on the deck. Men are running, Samuel is shouting orders, James and several other men lay a motionless Frederic on a stack of hastily assembled blankets, and Ruth pushes a cup of something into his hands. The sherry burns his throat and he nearly spits it back out. Doesn’t though. That wouldn’t be very piratical of him. He is, after all, a pirate king. And it is his duty to- god damn it all to the pits of hell. 

He stands up abruptly and oversees his ship. They are well out of reach of anything Cornwall can throw at them by now. Good. He has more important matters at hand. 

At his orders, his men bring Frederic to the main cabin, his cabin, while James, the closest the ship has to a doctor, runs him through their options. There aren’t many, they soon find, as the boy remains unresponsive through all of James’ treatment of cleaning the shallow cut left behind by the weapon, bandaging and trying to limit the swelling with wet washcloths. After that, he tells him, there is not much to do but wait and hope he will wake up soon. James doesn’t elaborate what will happen if Frederic doesn’t regain consciousness soon, and he does not ask. He does not want to know. 

\----

He is calculating their course when Samuel tells him the boy is regaining some of the colour in his face. 

He is standing at the deck, mapping the stars, when Ruth tells him Frederic is moving his head again. 

He is there when Frederic starts talking in his sleep. 

He is nodding off behind the ship’s wheel when James rushes out, shouting that Frederic is waking up, and they spend an agonizing two hours watching the boy trying to open his eyes before he gives up and goes back under. 

It is happening too slowly. Again. He ought to do something. It is his duty.  
And since when did he start thinking like a damned English Gentleman! He is a pirate king, for Victoria’s sake! 

\----

And so he sets course south, changes washcloths, orders his crew around the ship, listens to the boy’s mumbles, pours over maps and constellations, and does not sleep. 

Which is why he is half asleep in his chair, and wholly unprepared, when Frederic’s eyes start blinking, slowly, ever so slowly, and the boy simply wakes up, staring at the ceiling, then at him and back up at the ceiling in confusion. He shouts in surprise, shouting for Ruth, shouting for Samuel, James, and anyone, that he’s awake. Frederic’s awake! 

Frederic then proceeds to be violently ill right next to the bucket that was placed there for this specific purpose, but he doesn’t care. He clutches the boy to his chest briefly, before lowering him down onto the pillows. James is bustling about the cabin now, demanding herbs here and hot water there. And clearly time has passed, because Samuel and Ruth maneuver around him whilst James tries to talk Frederic into drinking the brew he made to help with the pain, and he may have mentioned duty - because he is hilarious - , but it is, finally, thankfully, happening too quickly to take it all in. 

\----

He blinks, and they are all sitting in his cabin; James, grinning like a maniac, Samuel, calm as always, overseeing the small gathering, and Ruth, cheeks glowing with either happiness or sherry. Or both. He takes a swig of his drink and looks over to where Frederic is still half asleep, his semi-coherent mumbles of ‘duty’ and ‘piratical generals’ every now and then interrupting their quiet conversation. He smiles. 

Sometimes it is indeed a glorious thing to be a Pirate King.


End file.
